“When I woke in the Normandy’s med bay, a part of me wondered if the past year had only been a strange fevered dream. Was this part of the Lazarus project? Would I hear Miranda’s voice over the comm soon, telling me to get dressed and grab my gun? Colors swirled around my vision as I tried to emerge from the trenches in which I was buried: deep and shadowy and opaque. That I was here, that I was even breathing after everything… it seemed so impossible, but the pain and the darkness felt intensely familiar. I had been here before.
Which meant I was not gone yet.”
Please please PLEASE read this fic. Shakarian post-destroy ending, around 8000 words, guaranteed robot feels. I cried. Not just like “oh my feels” but like, legit water-on-my-face cried.